Naked by Gina Gordon Page A

eclectic, from hippie chic to goth. It was the place to go on a weekend when Violet was in high school. By the looks of all the teenagers on the streets, it was obviously still the place to be seen. Not to mention it was home to Much—Canada’s music station. She might have waited outside in the cold for six hours one afternoon just to get a glimpse of a certain boy band—although she’d gotten more than a glimpse. She didn’t wash her hand for four days because of a skin-to-skin hand swipe with her favorite singer. Roxy had had her T-shirt autographed right across her chest. No surprise. Even at sixteen Roxy’s breasts were out of control—just like her actions.
    She opened the glass door that led to a set of stairs, taking her up to the second floor of the building to Inked. She didn’t hesitate when both feet hit the small foyer at the top of the stairs. She knew if she gave herself even a minute to think, she might change her mind.
    A bell rang when she opened the door. Immediately, the smell of disinfectant blasted her in the face. The buzz of the tattoo gun was loud, even though the work was being done in the back behind a wall with a white swinging door.

    The walls of the shop were black, but the room was surprisingly vibrant, in part because of the seating area, which housed red plastic chairs with metal legs, the green coffee table with several tattoo magazines fanned across the surface, and the multicolored frames that lined the walls with various tattoo samples.
    Directly ahead of her was a glass counter displaying a variety of rings and studs, all colors and sizes for every body part imaginable. Ouch!
    “Can I help you?” A fair-haired man greeted her with a smile. He wore a black T-shirt and green cargo pants. His light brown hair was gathered into a man bun. His hands were adorned with silver rings and two black leather cuffs wrapped around his wrists. Unsurprisingly, his body was covered with ink.
    Damn. He was a ridiculously good-looking man.
    She approached the counter, pulling at the scarf around her neck.
    In a few minutes, you can take it off.
    “I’m here to see Harper Jones.”
    “Do you have an appointment?” He smiled so sweetly, an expression she hadn’t been expecting.
    She shook her head. She needed to stop stereotyping. Noah had tattoos. Noah was sweet. So was Luke, once she’d gotten to know him a little better and he wasn’t so intimidating.
    Luckily, her nonresponse wasn’t grounds for her being kicked out. He nodded several times in understanding, and said, “One minute.”

    He loped to the white swinging door and stuck his head in the back. “Jones! Someone here to see you.” Now that he was out from behind the counter, she saw that he wore green Converse shoes and the hem of his cargos were folded up, revealing he wasn’t wearing any socks.
    “If she’s busy, I can come back.” This was a mistake. “She’s probably busy.” She couldn’t disclose her darkest secrets to a stranger. A stranger who was friends with Noah. “Or call. I should have called first and—”
    “Violet?” Harper’s voice interrupted her senseless babble. “What are you doing here?”
    The question hit her hard. Maybe she’d read the signals wrong. Maybe Harper’s scrutiny the other night wasn’t a silent invitation.
    The swinging door squeaked when Harper let it go behind her, approaching Violet from the other side of the counter.
    “I’m sorry.” Violet was sweating. She was officially a nervous wreck. “I can come back if you’re—”
    “Nonsense.” Harper walked closer and pulled her into a hug. “It’s so nice to see you again.”
    Immediately, Violet’s body eased and she relaxed into the gesture. Harper’s pink hair smelled like citrus. Today she wore a black corset-type top with thick black straps and a red skirt that hugged every perfect curve. The small diamond in her nose sparkled in the overhead lighting. Her hair was straight today with a casual flip out at